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Love's i oung Dream 



A Comedy 

By 

Madge Trj)one 



Copyrighted 1921 

by 

Louis B. Master 



Printed by 

Hollywood Citizen 

6426 Hollywood Blvd. 

Hollywood, California 



LOVE'S YOUNG DREAM 

A Comedy <ns 



^<K 



By 

MADGE TYRONE 
INDEX TO CHARACTERS 

CONSTANCE ADAMS — 

The bride — the new-fashioned girl — loving her husband the old 

fashioned way — though she is haunted by the green-eyed monster. 
DOUGLAS ADAMS — 

The groom — who loves his wife so much he cannot see a joke. 
HOLTON WARREN — 

The groom's uncle — Southern chivalry and Northern. pep. 
MISS URSULA DAVIDSON — 

The bride's aunt. Believes in reforming everyone's life but her 

own. 
ADA BROWNING — 

At the fascinating age when youth lingers and middle age hovers. 

She is suppposed to have captivated young Douglas, prior to 

Constance. 
TIM BURKE; — 

The foreman — busy and satisfied, satisfied and busy. 
GRACE BURKE— 

The foreman's wife — with a natural sense of humor that makes 

matrimony a serious 1 success. 

By 
MADGE TYRONE 
Bridal roses and old mahogany. Soft shaded lights gleaming on white 
napery and dull silver. The magic after-dinner hour when people are 
gathered together to be happy. The quaint old raftered dining room is in 
gala dress and puts forth its most mellow tones in honor of Constance and 
Douglas Adams, the bride and groom who have just returned from their 
honeymoon. 

Constance is radiantly happy and Douglas is desperately intense with 
the new responsibility of the just married lad. 

At the right moment Holton Warren, the young groom's' uncle, goes 
to the victrola and selects the lilting melogy, "There's Nothing Half so 
Sweet in Life as Love's Young Dream." The soft strains float into the 
bushed silence — and bring dreams to the young and middle aged alike. 

Ada Browning smiles at the bride and groom in whimsical apprecia- 
tion of their happiness. Douglas' short lived devotion to herself and Con- 
stance's vivid jealousy of her are things of the past. Ada Browning's' 
charm is founded on understanding of life. 

Holton Warren (Winter Hall type) lets his glance stray from the 
youthful happiness of Constance and Douglas to the mature sweetness of 
A.da Browning. To him, the melody of the old song seems a fitting accom- 
paniment to the melody of Ada's charm. 

Ursula Davidson, he bride's aunt, is the only one unaffected by th. 
music and the beauty of the after-dinner hour. Never having been married, 
Miss Davidson considers herself an authority on men, as well as an author- 
ity on everything else under the sun. To prove she is modern she wears 
her hair bobbed. In disdain of the fact that she is over forty, she wears 
her skirts nearly to her knees. She glances at the bride and groom 
through her largnette with an air that seems to say: "If marriage means 
happiness, I'm from Missouri." 

As the last strains are dying away. Tim Burke, the foreman, and 
Grace Burke, his wife, enter quietly from the background. They are 
dressed in their Sunday best; each carries a bouquet of graceful flowers 
stiffly bunched as an offering to the bride and groom. They pause until 
Holton Warren closes the victrola case and the song is ended 

Holton Warren returns to the table and makes his great gift in a brief 
presentation speech. 



C1A626683 

* SEP 28 1921 



"And so at the end of your honeymoon I hope you begin another 
honeymoon in this house that was built for happiness— this house, my 

Wedd Co!istance t0 and U Douglas thank Holton Warren rapturously. Ursula 
Davidson whispers to Ada: (> 

"I hope the upkeep won't make them poor. 

Holton Warren finishes his little speech: 

"Tim Burke has been foreman twenty years on this estate. He goes 
with the grounds." 

Tim bows stiffly and presents his bouquet. Of course, to the wrong 

p ersou the groom. His wife nudges him and the groom takes the hint 

and hands the bouquet to the bride. 

Holton Warren concludes: 

"And Grace, his wife, goes with the house." 

Grace curtsies easily and presents her bouquet to the bride. Constance 
and Douglas shake hands with the foreman and his wife and they leave. 
She, jauntily. He, with stiff self-consciousness. 

Everyone demands a speech from the groom. He rises with a des- 
perate expression and starts with great dignity. 

"My wife and I thank you for this reception " 

He coughs — he pauses — he coughs again. He breaks down in the 
middle of his speech. He stutters. He is absolutely tongue tied. 

Everyone is embarrassed at his embarrassment. But Constance, to 
cover up his lapse, jumps up and tells of the most wonderful honeymoon 
in the world with the most wonderful man in the world. At the present 
moment the most wonderful man in the world is looking rather ashamed 
of himself — rather drooping. Constance describes a bear hunt. 

"Just as the bear jumped in my path, my husband shot him and saved 
my life!" 

As his wife continues with enthusiasm, Douglas cannot help swelling 
up with pride. By the time she has finished he has forgotten his dismal 
failure as a speech maker. He is rather swaggering in his role of cave man. 

The guests rise from the table. Ada Browning goes to the groom. 
She talks to him cordially. Unconsciously Douglas puts his hand on her 
shoulder. Miss Davidson smiles synically and looks at her niece, then 
back at Douglas. For just a moment the bride is piqued, then she shrugs 
off the mood and goes to Douglas. She puts her arm in his. He turns to 
her, all radiant attention. 

The pleasant evening comes to an end. The guests are leaving. 

The light from the open house door streams across the threshold as 
the bride and groom receive their goodbyes. Constance kisses Ada and 
whispers: 

"You know, I used to be jealous of you." 

Ada smiles. 

"You silly child." 

As Holton Warren's car drives out of sight, Douglas looks down at his 
pretty wife. 

"Our home," he whispers. He kisses her tenderly. He picks her up 
in his arms and carries her across the threshold. The door closes, shutting 
out the light from the House of Happiness. 



But Love's Young Dream is precious, and like all precious things it 
must be guarded. 

At the end of three months Constance Adams loves her husband more 
than ever, but she forgets to guard against the attacks of the green eyed 
monster. 

Douglas Adams loves his wife, but as the months go on he begins to 
realize that Constance is having her own way in everything and that she 
and her Aunt Ursula are running the house. Constance loves a cave man 
and Douglas is afraid he is developing into a paper doll. 

Rat-a-tat-tat goes the knocker on the door of the House of Happiness. 
Aunt Ursula is making an early morning call. It is apparent that she has 
awakened with a set idea. Constance herself opens the door and eagerly 
greets Aunt Ursula. They go into the drawing room. 



"Where is he?" asks Ursula. 

Constance indicates "Up stairs." Then her lips begin to quiver. 
Ursula Davidson takes out a cigarette as she advises: 

"Save your tears for the news I'm bringing. Ada is not going to 
Europe this year." 

Constance's lips quiver more than ever as she demands: 

"Why?" 

"She says she intends to stay for the hunting season, and Douglas — 
is master of the hounds." 

Constance rises and stamps her foot. 

"We won't go to that fox chase today!" 

Just then Douglas comes running downstairs, dressed for the hunt. 
He whistles happily, but stops ' his whistle at the sight of Ursula, who 
greets him with a frigid nod and a nonchalant puff of smoke. 

"Why, Connie, aren't' you dressed for the chase?" Douglas demands 
in surprise. "The horses are being led around." 

"We are not going," his wife answers. 

Douglas sputters in his surprise. 

"Why, we must! Ada is staying over " 

Aunt Ursula rises with dignity. 

"I have something to discuss with you." 

Douglas, impatient but courteous, sits down to listen. But Constance 
walks from the room. 



In a corner of the estate Tim Burke is loading the last wagon of hay. 
He looks up in surprise as. Constance comes running down the lane. She 
whispers to him. He scratches his head in bewilderment, but she- is the 
mistress. He must do as she asks. Women are peculiar anyhow. 



Miss Ursula Davidson has not had a happy time with Douglas. His 
wife returns to the drawing room in time to hear his ultimatum: 
"I am going to that hunt if I have to go alone!" 
Constance tries new tactics. 

"Douglas, dear, come upstairs with me. I want to talk to you alone." 
Aunt Ursula murmurs: 
"Disgustingly bad taste to vamp her own husband!" 



The windows in Constance's boudoir face the fragrant fields. The 
odor of the autumn roses floats up from the driveway beneath. The sun- 
light is streaming into the dainty room as Constance enters with her hus- 
band's arms around her. There is no doubt Douglas is deeply infatuated. 
But his infatuation determines him all the more to he a man to this 
woman — not a mollycoddle. 



She pleads with him softly and sweetly. 

"For my sake you won't go to this chase?" 

He ansAvers almost as pleadingly. 

"Dear, we can't disappoint Uncle Holton and Ada. Besides, I'm mas- 
ter of the hounds." 

"To the devil with those old dogs!" answers Constance. 

This is the first time Douglas has heard his wife swear. It would be 
cunning in any other man's wife, but his wife! He is horrified. 

Constance continues her quick pleading. She tellsi him he will be 
sorry if he disobeys her. He retorts that she promised to "Love, honor 
and obey." She retaliates by saying the ceremony was out of date. For 
the first time, Douglas loses his temper. His wife grows hysterical. 
Though he does not Know it, Douglas himself is a little hysterical. Almost 
as much to run away from this strange feeling as from his wife, he starts 
for the door. She starts for the open window. In a strained, tense voice 
she turns to her husband and says: 

"If you go to the fox hunt, I'll jump out of the window!" 



The boy cannot believe her. He thinks she is bluffing. He starts to 
swagger out of the door. Constance calls out his name as she turns toward 
the window. He looks toward his wife just in time to see her clamber to 
the sill. Before he can stop her — she jumps. She disappears. 

With a cry of horror he dashes from the room. 



Downstairs Aunt Ursula has heard two screams. Douglas' deep cry of 
terror and the piercing scream of Constance as she fell. 

Fell from the second story — and landed safely on top of the huge hay 
wagon that happened to be standing undernearth the window. On top of 
the pile of hay Constance is now having real hysterics. Tim Burke is 
trying to clamber to her assistance as Aunt Ursula runs from the house. 
She pushes Tim aside and nimbly climbs up to Constance. Constance is 
sobbing. ■ 

"He doesn't love me any more." 

Aunt Ursula takes the girl in her arms just as Douglas, in mad terror, 
comes dashing from the house. He sways for a moment in relief as he 
sees his wife, apparently safe and sound, on top of the pile of hay. Aunt 
Ursula shakes an accusing finger at him. 

"I knew you were a rotter, but I never thought you'd throw your own 
wife out of her own window!" 

Aghast at this new accusation, Douglas tries to defend himself. By 
this time Tim has placed a ladder at the side of the hay mound. Aunt 
Ursula quickly dismounts, followed by Constance. Douglas goes to his wife. 

"Connie, Connie, are you hurt?" 

She answers: 

"Will you stay home from the chase?" 

Aunt Ursula pushes hi:.: away from Constance, exclaiming: 

"You murderer!" 

Douglas protests to Constance. 

"Are you letting her think " 

But Constance's hysteria has got the better of her. She stamps her 
foot and declares: 

"I hate you! " 

This is too much for the bewildered husband. He answers: 

"By God! I am going to the hunt!" 

He strides away. He quickly mounts one of the horses that the groom 
has already brought up. He dashes down the roadway out of sight. 

Aunt Ursula puts her arm around Constance. But to her amazement, 
Constance shakes her off, exclaiming: 

"It's all your fault!" 

This doesn't disconcert Aunt Ursula, who follows her into the house, 
remarking to the puzzled Tim: 

"That man has driven her mad." 



The start of the hunting season is a gala event at the Riverside 
Country Club. The members who are not going to ride are dressed in their 
gayest attire to wave good-luck to the hunters who are riding. 

Holton Warren and Ada Browning are the center of a gay group, and 
Holton Warren, in his red hunting coat and smart breeches and boots, is 
as blithe and youthful a figure as many a man half his age. 

Ada almost betrays her admiration. It is evident they are waiting 
for someone as the parade of the horses begins. No less a person than the 
master of the hunds, Douglas, is missing. Suddenly he comes galloping 
into the driveway and is'joyiully greeted by all. A shower of questions is 
flung at him: 

"Where if your wife?" 

He shouts some elusive answer, then attends to the business of getting 
ready for the start. 

The porch of the club house is filled with spectators watching the 
.start. The fox is let loose. The hounds strain and tug at their leashes, 
yelping in their excitement. The signal is given. They're off! Over hill 
and dale the picturesque cavalcade swings. 



It is hard on the fox, but great sport for the hunters. 

Holton Warren and Ada are well in the lead, when Douglas' horse, 
shying at a falling branch, outstrips all the others. In spite of himself, 
disheartened Douglas is the first in at the finish. His indifferent shot 
brings down the fox. To him is awarded the brush. Ase he looks at it 
he says to his uncle, gloomily: 

"Lucky at cards, unlucky at love." 

Holton Warren anxiously wonders if the heat of the chase has gone 
to the boy's head. The others ride home cheerily. Douglas lags behind, 
his head on his chest. 

Holton Warren and Ada fall behind too, to solve the mystery of his 
mood. As the three ride abreast on their way back to the club house, Tim 
Burke wheels into the road astriie one of the big farm horses. He hands 
Douglas a note. In dumb misery Douglas reads it — shoudders. There is 
no answer. Douglas hands the note to his uncle. This is what is says: : 
"Until you have fully atoned for your disgraceful conduct, 

do not return to the house. Your wife refuses to see you. Only 

an abject apolog3^ and your written promise never to' see that 

woman again can bring about a reconciliation. 

"Ursula Davidson." 

Ada Browning is astonished and indignant when she is told that she 
is the woman it refers to. It is only when Holton Warren, with his suave, 
whimsical manner, tells her that she has been selected by Fate to play 
the part of the good fairy to teach these two young people a lesson, that 
her indignation gives place to interest in Holton Warren's plan. 

They have all dismounted and Warren takes his young nephew by the 
lapel and speaks earnestly. He tells the plan. At first Douglas refuses to 
see any of its advantages. Then gradually he is swayed by his uncle's 
arguments. He begins to see a kittle light ahead. Douglas nods in agree- 
ment as Holton Warren concludes: 

"If you are firm now, it will teach her a lesson she'll never forget." 

The three ride on in a happier frame of mind. 



But in the House of Happiness all is gloom. Ursula Davidson is 
smoking her invariable cigarette. In sombre meditation, Constance gazes 
out of the drawing room window. To pass away the time, Aunt Ursula 
starts the victrola going with the record already on the machine. Iron- 
ically it happens to be "Love's Young Dream." Constance walks swiftly 
from the window, takes up the record and smashes it to the floor. Aunt 
Ursula puffs her cigarette, regards the broken pieces and comments: 

"The way of all love." 

Just then Tim Burke appears in the door and announces: 

"Mr. Adams sent me for his clothes." 

Ursula Davidson is driven to action. She leads the way to Douglas' 
dressing room. Together she and Constance swing open the drawers. 
Clothes fly out in every direction at the bewildered Tim, who has followed. 



Country attorneys are not so subtle about divorce matters as city 
lawyers who are more used to them. 

In the Swayne & Gorick law office, Gorick himself is listening to the 
long tale of woe poured out by Ursula Davidson about her nephew-in-law. 
He does not seem as impressed with Douglas' faults as the lady would 
wish him to be. He peers over his spectacles at her and asks calmly: 

"The husband is still living on the estate?" 

Miss Davidson answers tartly: 

"He is living in two rooms in the foreman's house." 

The lawyer seems unimpressed. He inquires how long it is since 
Douglas Adams has seen his wife. Ursula replies: 

"He deserted her a month ago today." 

The lawyer inquires: 

"You said she' forbade him the house?" 



Miss Davidson answers: 
"Decency demanded that." 
Gorick nods his head sagely. 

"I presume, Madam, jou have never been married — or deserted?" 
Miss Davidson jumps up. 
"I'll go to a woman lawyer!" 

She flounces out, slamming the door. Gorick fans himself in relief 
at her departure. 



Holton Warren walks blithely up the driveway to the House of Hap- 
piness. He is in festive attire >, ith a gay little white flower in the lapel 
of his coat. He hardly mourns the steps before Constance has run joyfully 
down to meet him. It is apparent that she loves Douglas' uncle. She 
will not admit in her own heart that her love is founded on the fact that 
he is Douglas' uncle. Slie leads him into the drawing room and scolds 
him reproachfully: 

"You shouldn't stay in a hotel. You should stay at our house." 

He answers: 

"Not without Douglas." 

And then, as though fearing she has mistaken his meaning, he goes 
on to tell her that he approves of her attitude — Douglas as a husband 
should never be forgiven. He is hopeless. Forgetting herself, Constance 
i urns on Holton Warren and is about to defend her husband. She has to 
put her hand up to her mouth to stop by sheer force the words of protest 
that want to force them:_ei\es out. But Holton Warren smiles secretly. 
He has found out what he wanted to know — that Constance still loves her 
husband. He goes close to Constance and speaks: 

"There's a secret I'd like to share with you — only you'll have to share 
ii with Douglas too." 

Constance sharkes her head negatively. Holton Warren looks out of 
the window and says: 

"It's beautiful outside. Walk down the road a little way with me." 

Constance agrees eagerly. In spite of herself, her heart is beating 
wildly with the hope that Uncle Holton will lead her in the direction of 
the foreman's house where Douglas has his snug two rooms. 

Down the path they walk — Holton Warren talking in a cheerful 
strain. Constance pretending to be happy. Unable to control herself 
longer, she exclaims: 

"There's no excuse for a married man to behave as Douglas has been 
behaving!" 

Holton Warren deprecates that his nephew isn't so very married after 
all. Young, fascinating, living alone — he is almost a perfect bachelor. 

"Besides, you gave Douglas an awful shake when you fell from the 
window." 

"I got the shake," answers Constance, but Holton Warren informs 
her that mental shakes are worse than physical ones. And he looks out 
of the corner of his eye to see how the young lady has been receiving his 
insinuations. They are acting as he intended them to. She seems anxious 
to continue the conversation about Douglas. Noticing that she is softening, 
he whispers: 

"Now if you would write Douglas a nice affectionate letter and 
apologize " 

The word is too much for Constance. She retorts: 

"Modern girls don't apologize to their husbands." 

Holton Warren nods in agreement and answers: 

"They don't seem to keep them, either." 

Constance would leave him for this remark, only — he is leading her 
closer and closer to the house where her husband has taken refuge. 

Just as they arrive in front of the house, a car drives down the road- 
way toward them. Constance stands stock still, for Douglas is driving the 
car and Ada is in the seat behind him. Holton Warren turns swiftly to 
Constance. 

"Won't you share the secret?" 



Constance cannot speak, but she shakes her head vigorously. Ada 
smiles sweetly, but Constance refuses to see. Douglas makes a wild leap 
from the car and starts toward his wife. Holton Warren grabs hold of his 
arm firmly. 

"Young man, is this the way I depend on you?" 

Ada, too, whispers some secret plea. Douglas again enters the car 
and they drive off. Constance raises her head in time to see tthe car dis- 
appearing in the distance. She sinks down on a seat outside the house. 
She hides her head on her arm and sobe unrestrainedly. 

Grace Burke, making pies in the kitchen, glances out of the window. 
In amazement at seeing Constance she runs out to her. She puts her plump 
arm around her comfortingly. Constance breaks down entirely. She 
whispers to Grace: 

"Do you think he's eloping with her?" 

Grace laughs, and in some way her laugh brings comfort to Constance. 

"Come in the house, dear," she coaxes, "and have a piece of pie." 

They sit down at the clean kitchen table. Grace takes a newly baked 
pie and cuts a luscious piece. Constance declines — says she cannot eat it. 
Grace imparts fervently: 

"If you'll excuse me for mentioning it, Mrs. Adams, that poor boy 
upstairs is breaking his heart for you." 

Constance grasps her arm in her eagerness to hear more. 

"Do you really think so!" she exclaims happily. 

Mrs. Burke relates the symptoms of heartbreak. They give Constance 
an appetite. She starts to eat the pie in her joy as Grace talks on. 

"He only lets me in to dust the rooms. His socks are in a terrible 
condition." 

Constance has a daring thought. She whispers to Grace. Grace nods 
delightedly and leads the way. 

Up the flight of stairs to the room that is. now Douglas' bedroom. 
Through (he bedroom to the litle room he u?e" as a study. Everything is 
more or less in disorder. Grace shakes her head at this untidiness, but 
Constance begins to "straighten up." It is evident she is delighted with 
her task. She takes up a basket of socks that have come home from the 
wash. She takes up one sock and her fingers go through the toe. In 
dismay she calls to Grace and asks for darning cotton. Grace goes to get 
it, and Constance is left alone in her husband's room. 

An old dressing gov n of his is hanging over the back of a chair. 
She holds the sleeve of it to her cheek, then quickly sits down when she 
hears Grace returning with the darning cotton. Grace excuses herself and 
goes to her work downstairs. Constance darns f.or a few moments, then 
curiosity gets the better of her and she walks over to Douglas' desk in 
the study and picks up a diary. It is dated that day and reads: 

"The 31st day of loneliness and unhappiness. Oh, Constance, if you 
only knew " 

She reads the well known writing through a blur of tears. 



In a little country parsonage a minister has just united in marriage 
Holton Warren and Ada Browning. Douglas is witness. After Holton 
Warren has received congratulations he says a word in parting to his 
nephew. 

"This way saves all fuss. You can explain to the newspapers. Next 
week we'll return to the village to say goodbye before leaving for 
Europe." 

Douglas gloomily watches the bride and groom depart. 



It is growing dark. Constance has put her husband's room in apple 
pie order. She has even dusted off her own picture and placed it prom- 
inently on the desk. She is about to leave when she hears a noise. She 
runs to the window. Dismayed, she sees her husband returning. She is 
m a panic of shyness. She doesn't want to meet him. There is only one 
door leading from the bedroom to the hall. She hears Douglas coming 
up the stairs. In terror she seeks a hiding place. She runs to the clothes 
closet in the study. She shuts the door all but a crack. 



Douglas enters his apartment. The happiness of his uncle and new 
aunt has only made him feel more lonely. As if by instinct, he ^oes to 
the desk. He sinks down before the picture of his wife. He takes it in 
Tiis hands and looks at it for a "long time. Then he starts to write in the 

■diary. 

Constance peers from the clothes closet. It is getting dark. She 
wishes Douglas would leave the room so she might escape. As though in 
•answer to her wish, he puts down his pen — he rises. He walks into the 
bedroom beyond. Constance tiptoes as far as the door and peeks out. 

In time to realize the full awkwardness of her rosition. For Douglas 
is locMng the outside door. He sits down on the bed and takes off his 
shoes. He removes his coat. 

Constance wrings her hands in dismay, then runs again for the clothes 
closet. She determines not to reveal her presence if she has to hide all 
night. To be found in her banished husband's rooms would humiliate her 
as much as if she were caught going through his pockets. 

Douglas enters in his dressing gown and slippers. He seems prepared 
to write in his diary for the rest of the night. He lights a cigarette. 
Constance is now desoerate. 



Beaming with joy at the reconciliation which she firmly believes has 
taken place, Grace Burke comes down the hall carrying a tray on which 
is spread an appetizing little supper for two. Her' honest, goodnatured 
smile radiates her face as she knocks on the door. Douglas is in the 
middle of another sad sentence recalling the happy days with Constance 
that are no more Grac ,j Buik^ has to knock twice before he puts down 
his pen reluctantly, gathers his robe about him, walks through his study 
1o the bedroom and opens the door. Grace enters happily with her tray. 
She looks around amazed that Constance is nowhere in sight. She starts 
to ask: 

"Where is " 

Then stops herself. For the first time it occurs to her that something 
may have gone wrong. Douglas does not look like a happily reconciled 
groom, and where is the bride? 

Douglas is astonished at Grace Burke's unexpected visit with the sup- 
per tray. But Grace explains as she sets the tray down on the table: 

"I thought you'd be hungry, Mr. Adams, and this was pie day." 

The tray looks appetizing. Douglas thanks her. A sudden new 
thought strikes Grace. She asks if she may go into the other room to get 
something that she left tnere while cleaning. Douglas nods. He is really 
Interested in the supper tray. He starts to nibble as Grace disappears into 
the study. 

And Constance, watching from her hiding place, startles Grace with 
a hoarse whisper. She beckons her to approach. In hoarse, dramatic 
whispers Constance insists that Grace must get her out of this. 

"Think of the scandal! Found in my own husband's rooms!" 

Honest Grace is puzzled and answers: 

"The scandal would be worse if it were somebody else's husband, 
ma'am." 

The two jump apart, for Douglas is moving. They hear his footsteps. 
With a last dramatic demand: 

"You must get him out of the room so I can leave," Constance returns 
to the closet and shuts the door. Not a moment too soon, for Douglas is 
already at the threshold of the room. He is laughing and speaks: 

"Why did you set the tray Tor two. Grace?'* 



Sadly disturbed from the even tenor of her way, she is still loyal to 
Constance's command. She makes some incoherent answer and hurries 
from the room. Douglas looks after her amusedly, then shrugs his shoul- 
ders. Evidently all wives are peculiar. 



Downstairs in the clean kitchen Grace Burke ponders her problem. 
Hew is she to clear the room upstairs for Constance to escape? The black 
house cat on the window sill answers her question by making a leap for 
her shoulder. Grace has not seen the cat and startled by its action, she 
lets out a scream, and at the moment she screams, her brain tells her it 
is a good idea to keep on screaming. She calls out: : 

"Help! Help! Mr. Adams!" 

Douglas comes tearing down the stairs. Tim comes tearing in from 
the barn. By this time Grace's one idea is to avoid an explanation until 
Constance has had a chance to escape. And her only way of avoiding an 
explanation to the two startled men who are begging her to tell them 
what is the matter — is to keep on screaming. But she watches the hall 
out of the corner of her eye until Constance's skirt whisks by the door and 
then out of sight. Grace sinks down on a chair. Douglas fan's her. Tim 
runs for a glass of water. 



And Constance speeding along in the darkness outside, hugs tightly 
to her breast the black leather book — the diary in which Douglas has been 
writing. The ink is stili wet on it. The temptation to find out the 
thoughts her husband has put down in the little black book has been too 
great. It will be almost like reading a love letter from him. Constance 
reaches the former House of Happiness. 

r io her great joy she finds her aunt has not yet returned from the city. 
She orders the maid to tell Miss Davidson that she has retired and not to 
disturb her before morning. She goes upstairs to her room, still clasping 
the precious book. 



In the spacious kitchen Grace Burke is vividly detailing to the two 
men her conclusion that the farmhouse is haunted. Tim is listening with 
deep interest, for he has never known his wife to give way to nerves. But 
Douglas is smiling in cynical unbelief. He thinks it merely another fem- 
inine eccentricity. He leaves Grace to her husband's care. He goes up 
the stairs to his rooms. Again he locks the door. Again he goes to the 
desk to continue his diary. The diary is missing. Puzzled, he looks 
around. He hunts for it vigorously, but cannot find it anywhere. In spite 
of himself he wonders: "Is this house haunted?" 



In the daintiest lingerie, Constance is lying comfortably in bed read- 
ing the diary. 



In the week that follows, the love diary is almost worn out by Con- 
stance's steady reading of it. For six days the lingering remnant of her 
pride keeps her from going to aer husband, but on the seventh morning 
as she comes down to breakfast, she finds a newspaper with the headlines 
announcing Holton Warren's marriage to Ada Browning the week previous, 
and the fact that the bride and groom are returning to the little town to 
say goodbye to their friends before sailing for a European honeymoon. 

Realizing how unfounded her jealousy has been and how her willful 
stubbornness has nearly wrecked her happiness, Constance determines to 
go to her husband and apologize before her Aunt Ursula can stop her. 
Just as she happily starts for the door, Aunt Ursula bursts in with great 
news. She has found a lawyer who absolutely guarantees divorce. Con- 
stance retorts she doesn't want a divorce and runs out of the breakfast 
room. 



Tim Burke and his wife are talking things over on the farmhouse 
porch. They do not realize how their voices carry in the clear air to the 
window above where Douglas sits writing in an abviously new diary. Tim 
speaks: 



"Mrs. Adams, she sez to me — be sure the "hay wagon is exactly under 
my window. It's a matter of life and death." 

Grace's expression show? she thinks the plan a very clever one and 
"thoroughly approves of it. Douglas, brought to his feet by the news he 
"has overheard, almost falls out of the window in bis effort to hear more. 
Tim continues: 

"Just before she jumped she gave me the high sign." 

Douglas is overwhelmed. He goes rapidly to the diary and looks at 
the written words: 

"Constance, dear, you proved your love for all time when you jumped 
out of that window. Why sbould I teach you a lesson? I love you — that 
is enough." 

In wild rage he tears the page out of the diary. He crumples it sav- 
agely and flings it on the floor. 



Tim Burke leaves his wife to return to the fields. Grace is about to 
go into the house when she sees the flutter of a dress behind the hedge, 
:and then Constance beckons to Grace, who runs toward her eagerly. She 
listens sympathetically to the whispered message: 

'Tell him I'm sorry, Grace. I'll be waiting for him — borne." 

Constance runs swiftly away and Grace goes cheerfully on her pleasant 
errand. She is delighted that the young people now seem to have no 
■obstacle to their reunion. 

Douglas is still in the throes, of outraged pride when Grace knocks at 
his door. She delivers her message. At first sheer delight ta^es possession 
of him, and then he glowers again as his eyes fall on the torn diary. He 
sternly tells Grace to wait until he has composed a note to his wife. He 
:sits down at his desk and writes: 

"My dear wife: 

"I shall be happy to see you and hold you to my heart, in 

this, my own apartment, where I have lived so long alone. But 

it was through a window you departed, and it is through a 

window you must return. Douglas." 

Grace starts on her way with the letter. 

And Constance, in hei prettiest frock, waits for her husbands' return. 
'She hears a sound down the path. She goes to the piano and pretends to 
play. Her heart is beating so fast she is afraid to look up. It is a love 
jneiody her fingers tremblingly pick out. She is roused from her delicious 
reverie by the matter-of-fact voice of Grace Burke. She looks up terribly 
<tisappointed. Grace hands her the letter. She reads it. It is the last 
indignity. She closes the piano with a bang. She asserts: 

"This is the end." 

She calls to her aunt: 

"Aunt Ursula, Aunt Ursula!" 

Miss Davidson comes running into the room. Constance cries out: 

"I want that lawyer who guarantees divorce!" 

Constance is almost hysterical. 

"Oh! if I could only tell him what I really think of him." 

Grace Burke answers quietly: 

"If you're not afraid to, why don't you?" 

Constance answers: 

"I will!" 

Miss Davidson echoes: 

"So will I!" 

Constance goes to the garage for her roadster. The three women 
drive off. 



Tim Burke's house is having the busiest time of its life and Tim 
Burke wishes his wife were there to help him do the honors to Holton 
Warren and Ada, his bride. For it is a gloomy, absent-minded Douglas 
who welcomes the new arrivals. Holton Warren asks for the news and 
Douglas tells him. 



"You've lived longer than I, Lucie — bat I've been married longer than 
you. Take my advice — never teach your wife a lesson!" 

His uncle is obliged to agree that perhaps Douglas is right. 

Down the road drives Constance's little roadster with Constance, Ursula 
and Grace. Douglas' heart almost stops beating when he recognizes his 
wife. Then he pulls himself together. Holton Warren and Ada greet the 
newcomers cordially. The two young people assume a fearful dignity. 
When Douglas attempts to talk to Constance regarding his stand, she 
coldly announces that Ursula Davidson is her representative, and all com- 
munications must be carried on through her. Whereupon Douglas appoints, 
Holton Warren his representative and all communications must be carried 
on through him. And with a very haughty mien Douglas disappears 
down the path with Ada. 

It's a very disconsolate Constance that sits down to watch the two 
representatives have it out. 

Ursula Davidson is in her glory. She is laying down the law. Her 
tirade ends: 

"The divorce will be granted on the grounds of cruelty. The young: 
man will never throw another wife from the second story." 

With suave dignity Holton Warren presents his side of the case, con- 
cluding: 

"The court is sure to grant my nephew a divorce on the grounds of — 
PREMEDITATED HAY." 

Constance calls to her aunt that it is time to depart. As the two* 
ladies are about to go, Holton Warren informs them that he and his wife 
have decided to take Douglas to Constantinople with them on their honey- 
moon. This strikes terror to Constance's heart as she whispers to her aunt: 

"Constantinople — where every man has a dozen wives !" 

But Miss Davidson retorts scornfully: 

"You needn't worry if Douglas has a hundred wives, since you won't 
be one of them." 

This doesir't seem comforting to Constance, but as Ada and Douglas 
are returning, Constance steps into the car after her aunt and drives away. 



The news is broken to Douglas that he is to go to Constantinople. 
It is all one to him where he goes, without Constance. But he is not very 
spry about his packing, or cheerful.. 



In front of the country garage Constance's car stops. She gets out 
to examine the engine. A tiny little nut is missing, but it will take an 
hour to fit a new one on. Aunt Ursula decides to go home in a taxi, but 
Constance will wait for her car. 

The taxi is hardly out of sight, when Constance hurries to the garage 
telephone. She calls up Grace Burke. She asks the vital question: 

"Is he really going?" 

Mrs. Burke answers: 

"Yes, he leaves at seven o'clock." 

Constance looks at her wrist watch. It is ten minutes to seven. The 
great decision must be made. In the last struggle she almost moans to 
Grace: 

"It's so undignified to go up a ladder to meet one's husband!'" 

Mrs. Burke answers: 

"I'd shinny up a lamp-post to get to mine!" 

Constance hangs up the receiver with a bang. Out of her purse she 
takes the missing nut that she has previously removed from the engine. 
She jumps into the car and is off at top speed. 



Douglas is superintending the carrying out of his trunk to Holton 
Warren's car that waits down the driveway. Holton himself and Tim 
Burke help load the trunk into the automobile. 



The ample figure of Grace Burke tiptoes around the corner of the 
house carrying a still more ample ladder, which she softly and quietly 
places against the wall near Douglas' window. 

In a hidden spot down the road Constance parks her car. She comes 
cautiously through the shrubbery to the farmhouse. She looks around 
wildly. No one seems in sight. She swiftly runs to the ladder and starts 
to mount it. 

It takes a woman to catch a woman. Ada Browning whispers in 
Douglas' ear. He turns and sees a miracle — Constance climbing the ladder. 

With a flying leap Douglas jumps from the car. He runs up the lad- 
der. He swoops his wife into his arms and goes through the window 
with her. 



In the House of Happiness Ursula Davidson waits anxiously on the 
porch, wondering why Constances does not return. At the sound of a car 
she runs down the steps to meet Constance, but it is Holton Warren and 
his wife bringing tremendous news. Holton Warren announces in a 
shocked manner: 

"I'm afraid my nephew deserves your opinion of him. A lady has 
been discovered in his room. She is with him now." 
Ursula Davidson almost faints as she exclaims: 
"Constance must never know. It would kill her!" 
She commands Holton Warren to wait until she has summoned wit- 
nesses. She calls the maids and the gardner. They all pile into the car 
and start off to confront Douglas and his infamy. 



Arriving at the foreman's house, Ursula Davidson appoints herself 
commanding-general. She marshals her forces behind her and leads the 
way up the stairs, down the hall to the door of her nephew. She knocks. 
There is no answer. She turns the knob. The door is unlocked. She 
enters and silently motions the witnesses to follow her. They tiptoe 
through the bedroom into the study and there — comes the great exposure. 

All innocently unaware of the witnesses, Douglas Adams stands with 
his back to them. He is holding a girl in his arms — a girl who fervently 
returns his kisses. 

Miss Davidson gasps. Douglas swings around and faces the intruders. 
The girl turns too. She smiles unafraid — though she has revealed her 
husband in the arms of his own wife! 

Right then and there Ursula Davidson resigns the management of her 
niece, Constance. 

The harvest-moon looks down on the harvesters as they return from 
the fields singing. 

It loks down on Ursula Davidson departing from the residence of 
Douglas and Constance Adams. 

It looks down on Tim Burke with his mouthpiece, blowing out the 
tune: "There's nothing half so sweet in life as Love's Young Dream," 
while his wife keeps time with her feet. 

It looks down on Conrtance and Douglas returning through the fields. 
Once again the lights stream from the House of Happiness in welcome. 
The door opens and closes on them — and Love's Young Dream. 

THE END 



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